


Bottom of the Glass

by RoswellSmokingWoman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Whiskey Bottom Will, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman
Summary: Will and Hannibal try to find normalcy in their new life after the fall. Hannibal craves Will's affection and touch, only Will doesn't know how to give those to him. A night of drinking helps.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 161
Collections: Whiskey Bottom Will





	Bottom of the Glass

There is much that remains unsaid between them after the fall from the cliffside. In a way, Hannibal and Will have developed a silent understanding. Will prefers it this way, that he doesn’t need to explain himself. While Hannibal could never fully predict Will, he’s seen enough of Will’s true nature to know what the stifled grunts at midnight mean—that Will’s had a difficult day, and that he hasn’t had enough to eat; to know what the first three dogs Will brings home mean—he is struggling to express his need for care and love; to know what Will’s avoidance of touch means—their life together makes him _uncomfortable_.

In Florence, Hannibal gives Will time to recover.

_They sit in the Norman Chapel, staring into each other’s eyes. In their shared mind palace, they project Hannibal’s broken heart onto the image of the chapel, laid out for Will to find. Will places his hand over it, feeling as it comes to life and beating under his palm. He cracks a smile, Hannibal placing his hand on Will’s lower back. The smile fades with the touch, Will leaving Hannibal alone in their mind palace._

In Paris, Hannibal gives Will time to discover himself away from his past life.

_Will sits on the terrace, sipping slowly at his burgundy wine. Hannibal draws him, brooding and beautiful. He captures every line and scar on the other man’s face, takes time to shade each crevice with care._

_“You look lovely, like this,” Hannibal tells Will._

_“The night does wonders to obscure,” Will protests, turning his head away. “We’ll have to leave soon. Too many dinners here, don’t you think?”_

_“One night more? We have more to explore.”_

_Hannibal hopes their exploration wouldn’t leave the confines of their luxury apartment, that they would stay in his king-sized bed under silk sheets the next day. Will sleeps in his own bed and wakes up early in the morning to purchase croissants for breakfast. Hannibal doesn’t mention how he’d intended to spend their last day in Paris. They visit the Louvre instead._

In Marrakech, they make their home. Settled, Hannibal finds it difficult to give Will more time. He gives him time anyway. He gives him space. In that giving, Hannibal feels drained and alone. The ghost of a life without love pokes at his back nightly, its cold tipped fingers pulling into his chest and grazing his heart with its sharp nails. Admittedly, Hannibal had expected a different climax. His life with Will clumsily falls flat on its face, like a child taking its first steps. He wishes he could feel proud like a parent, proud that they had taken their first steps together. It seems that they haven’t passed the stumbling phase, and Hannibal Lecter is not a man who stumbles. He glides gracefully through the passage of time without much effort, without displacing a single hair on his head. Life with Will Graham is awkwardly clunky. He endures it, only for Will.

And, for the first time, murder bores him. It had delighted him so to find Will at his side, collecting groceries without regret. They build tableaux which only their eyes would be privy to. Hannibal, in these moments, finds an almost orgasmic pleasure in being with Will, but he realizes that it’s only foreplay which teases him into eventual frustration. At first, they murder more often. When this doesn’t reignite Hannibal’s passion, his appetite dies. He finds a home in the piano’s bench, scantily drinking wine and nibbling on food out of hunger, Will always nearby reading a book. With his habits squelched, they speak to each other even less—a silent understanding becoming a simple and dull silence, without gravity or meaning.

It is cruel that Will should know all of these things, that deep within Hannibal lies a depression black and curdled in the dying pit of his heart. _Is Hannibal in love with me?_ Isn’t it obvious? He waits for Hannibal’s action first, in their new life. He is the one who had surrendered, the one who had waited in prison for three years. Hannibal, instead, maintains a cold distance between them. It only provides Will with time to question: Is this what he wants? He’s unsure, his feet planted on each side of a divide: to be with Hannibal, or not to be with Hannibal. They live together, eat together, but they are not together. The distinction doesn’t bother Will, at first. Only when Hannibal sinks into reclusion does he realize that his avoidance had gone on for too long.

He tries to take Hannibal to the opera, but the night ends with each in their separate bedrooms, no digestif to cap off the evening.

_“The opera was wonderful,” Will breathes, approaching Hannibal._

_“It was,” Hannibal replies wearily, setting his shoes in the coat closet and reaching for his slippers. “I’m tired. We’ll discuss it tomorrow?”_

_“Good night.”_

_Hannibal nods at him, his lips pursed into a thin line. He wants to tell Will something, to invite him into his bedroom, but he doesn’t. “Good night.”_

He finds a stray to rouse some reaction from Hannibal. Hannibal only prepares the dog a meal and occasionally allows it to sit on the couch between them when they read at night.

_“Lola,” Hannibal tells the dog, patting her head. “We should name her Lola.”_

_"She likes it.”_

_Parenthood doesn’t erupt forth from Hannibal like it had with Abigail. Perhaps a dog isn’t a sufficient substitute, but Will had hoped anyway. It would have been a way to bond, an easy starting point for them. Hannibal pats the pillow, staring blankly at the dog. She wags her tail excitedly before hopping onto the couch, leaving a cloud of fine hairs behind her._

Will tries again, another stray—larger, furrier. Hannibal only blinks twice. First in disbelief, second in acceptance.

_“Lola seems to like her,” Hannibal notes with a hum, arranging a thick blanket on the floor as a makeshift dog bed. “We’ll need to bathe her regularly. I’ll buy a brush in town tomorrow to help with the shedding. Will?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Perhaps we should name her Freddie?”_

_Will laughs bitterly. “I think she deserves a better name. Violet.”_

_“Hmm,” Hannibal sounds, disappearing into the kitchen to find a treat for Violet._

The third stray pulls out a sigh, defeated.

_“We’ll have to get a bigger home, soon,” Hannibal tells Will. “A room for the dogs. He doesn’t seem to like the piano.”_

_“He’s a dog, Hannibal.”_

_“Lola and Violet seem to appreciate it, in any case. It soothes them.” Hannibal rushes to armoire, pulling out the piano cover from it._

_“He’ll come around. I like Rusty for him.”_

_“Very well.”_

A fishing trip—maybe that would do the trick.

_Hannibal leaves the home in a three-piece suit and Italian leather shoes, and only watches Will fish from a distance. Will gives up._

_“We should go home,” Will grumbles._

_“We’ve only been here an hour. We can stay a while longer.”_

_“Nothing’s biting.” Will means no one’s biting._

_The real silence begins then, not a single word spoken between the pair as they return home._

Alcohol becomes a friend to Will one evening, five months after moving to Marrakech. It had been so long since Hannibal had sat next to him, Will had forgotten the feeling—warm, comforting. He draws his hands into his lap, turning his head to the coffee table where his whiskey lies, nearly untouched.

“You married Molly,” Hannibal breathes, his voice cracking from disuse.

Will raises his eyebrows, laughing. The first thing Hannibal tells him in weeks, and it’s about a person Will had left behind nearly a year ago. “Technically, I’m still married.”

“And faithful.”

“In everything but spirit.” Will reaches for the whiskey again, unsure of what to say to him. _Jealousy_. It’s a strange emotion on Hannibal.

“Do you miss your old life?”

“She’s taking care of the dogs. I wish I had the fishing gear, maybe. I spent a lot of time making lures.” There’s a pause where Will gathers his thoughts, considering what’s best to say to Hannibal. “Most of my old life lives in this house with me, sitting at the piano speaking to it instead of me.”

Hannibal smiles, prying the glass of whiskey from Will’s hand and taking a sip of it. “That’s quite the statement.”

“Was I ever alive before the Chesapeake Ripper?” Will stands from the couch, walking to the other end of the room. He brushes his hand over the dark mahogany wood of the bookshelf, reading the titles of the books resting on the shelves.

“Only you could know that.” Hannibal waits before he follows Will, whiskey in hand. “What is life like with the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“You took my whiskey,” Will deflects.

Hannibal tips the glass back into his mouth, draining it of its contents in one smooth gulp. “It seems to have disappeared.”

“Awfully passive-aggressive behavior from you, Doctor Lecter.”

“Behaviors reflect thoughts. Our perception of others reflects our own internal thoughts, too. I wonder if you’re feeling a bit passive-aggressive, Will? The avoidance. The dogs. Do you long for the time before our fall from the cliffside?”

“I’d still like that whiskey.”

“Too bad, so sad.”

Scoffing Will leans in closer to Hannibal, his lips only inches away from the other man’s. “What is it that you want? I need to know.”

“Don’t be daft.”

“You’re a stubborn man. You crave my empathy, assume its endless understanding. You love me.” Will grabs Hannibal's face in his hands, digging his fingers into Hannibal's cheeks.

“Love is a visitor that hasn’t left my heart,” Hannibal admits, softly.

“Do you want it to leave?”

“You enjoy watching me writhe in anguish. The tables have turned in your favor.”

“No. You enjoy watching me writhe.” Will licks his lips, Hannibal’s warm breath washing over his face. “There’s more than one way to get that whiskey…” he whispers, pressing his lips into Hannibal’s, the taste of whiskey lingering on his lips. He drinks up the flavor of it, forcing Hannibal’s lips to part so that he can slip his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal pulls away from him, staring back at Will in bewilderment, his eyes wide and lined with the beginnings of tears.

“Tell me,” Will rasps.

“I want you. Do you want me, too?”

“Yes, Hannibal. I want you. I love you.”

Hannibal takes Will by the hips, pushing his back into the bookshelf. He draws the feeling of surrender from Will’s skin into his fingertips, warm and vibrating throughout him. With each kiss, Hannibal feels as if they have finally met each other in the same place, at the same time, and without conflict. He relishes the ease of it, how they melt at each other’s touch. He thanks the whiskey, for the truth that lay at the bottom of its glass.


End file.
